The no-holds-barred tale of a Chicago-based thirty-something living the so-called dream

OKCupid

I don’t know what it is. Perhaps I was drunk one night and got a tattoo that only glows in blacklight (hence the reason I’ve never noticed it in the mirror) that says “If you’re weird, please talk to me and/or ask me on a date” or else maybe I have a Kick-Me-esque sign eternally taped to my backside with the same message. Regardless, I seem to attract weirdos and only weirdos.

As it would seem, I have a knack for attracting the socially awkward types. It doesn’t matter where I meet them (OKCupid, Grindr (or G-Harmony as a friend calls it), friend-of-a-friend, etc.) they usually turn out to be missing screws.

Like this:

26. Single. Enjoys cake. Thanks for the reminder, OKCupid. For the record, I hate you. Now please excuse me while I go eat my feelings.

Yes, this really happened.

So here I was. Out for dinner with my bestie and Fiesta. Not-so-Carrie had decided to throw me a surprise birthday dinner. Not quite the all-out surprise party I planned (from 8 hours away nonetheless), threw, and surprised her at a few months ago, but she definitely earned a well-deserved A for effort. I enjoyed the evening with two of my favorite (real) ladyfriends gorging ourselves on mussels (not muscles, unfortunately) and arugula salad at La Madia, a “contemporary pizzeria” as they refer to themselves. Continue reading →

The modern misadventures of a twentysomething transplant from Nebraska, trying to navigate Chicago. Many gays love meddling with my life, for better and for worse. Fortunately, I'm a less horse-faced version of Carrie Bradshaw, that, unfortunately, never gets any action.